Hopeless
by MorriganMKII
Summary: A trainer lost in Eterna Forest finds comfort. Former Oneshot, expanding as of 4/12/11.    Supernatural mystery? Not sure how we got here, but that's how it turned out.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.:**

This is my first outing in fan fiction writing in a number of years. For what it is, I feel satisfied with it, though I'm not sure if I should continue. I had a very different ending planned, but this idea seemed to worm its way into my head as I wrote this. I rather like it, but am torn as to whether or not I should go all the way through with it. Thus, feedback is appreciated.

Please enjoy.

**Edit: 5/25/11**

No longer happy with this. Under revision.  
>Maybe I'm too fickle, but this whole chapter now seems to me entirely out of place given the remainder of the story. Not that it was particularly good to begin with.<br>Now combed for grammatical errors and redundancy, it is much improved. Greater formatting and overall content renovations will come when I have the time.

Things get better from here, I swear.

* * *

><p>It was dark.<br>The air was frigid, and the heavy rain pouring down complemented the icy temperature with bone-chilling results. The now thoroughly soaked forest floor made travel all the more difficult for the equally saturated trainer currently seeking shelter from the harsh weather.

What was meant to be an hour-long walk through Eterna Forest had turned into an all-day fiasco.  
>Any sense of time he may have had lost hours ago, the last day was little more than a blur in his mind.<p>

Getting lost was not on this young man's itinerary: he was completely unprepared for a night in the forest, even if it weren't currently the set of one of the worst storms nature had chosen to stage of his recent memory... yet, here they were.

"They" and not "he", as following closely behind the young trainer was a single Pokemon. Humanoid in appearance, with moss-green hair and a flowing white dress: a pokemon easily identifiable as a gardevoir.

Using its psychic ability to levitate, maneuvering the forest was a much less taxing activity for the pokemon than for the trainer. The weather, however, had taken a much more noticeable toll on its willowy body, the cold quite literally encompassing the poor creature's very core.

An involuntary shiver ran through its figure as the gardevoir floated toward its now still trainer.

"Something wrong, Master?"

The young man turned his head slightly towards the voice, but his gaze remained ahead of the two.  
>A rather pregnant pause passed before the trainer was finally able to breathe out the single word he did,<p>

"Light."

Trying to match his gaze, the gardevoir looked ahead.  
>Indeed, small and flickering pinpricks of light were just barely visible through the rain and thick forestation.<p>

A wave of relief now hit the two, a small flame of hope warming them both.

Legs like lead after trudging all day through the mud that still remained resolutely pulling at the soles of his shoes, the trainer now found it in himself to press on.

* * *

><p>As they approached what the two now recognized to be a small clearing, their newly found relief left them in an instant.<p>

A few feet above the pair's heads, small orbs of light idly buzzed between the branches of the many trees surrounding them.  
>Illumise and volbeat. Firefly pokemon.<p>

The young man's legs finally giving in to his exhaustion, he fell to his knees, his eyes not leaving the display above them. The beauty of the sight was lost on him.

The gardevoir knelt next to him.

"Master..?"

He didn't react. The trainer's now glassy eyes seemingly glued to the taunting dance of the insects above them, his body remained still.

As the pokemon looked at its master's face, a deep pang of sadness rung through its body. He had never seemed so thoroughly depressed by something in the years the gardevoir had known him, which was nearly the whole of their lives.  
>In this expression it saw an abyss.<p>

It raised a trembling hand to the trainer's face, cupping his cheek.  
>The pokemon's voice beginning to tremble, it repeated itself, pulling the trainer's face toward itself.<p>

After a moment so painfully silent, he partially regained his composure.

"What do we do?"  
>There was genuine fear in his voice as he said this, his former resolve in shambles after hours of wandering. His eyes focused on the Pokemon next to him.<br>"What _can_ we do?"

The gardevoir, a warm lump now stubbornly lodged in its throat, considered this for a moment, rendered near speechless by the pathetic sight before it.  
>There really was no verbal response to voice its feelings. No comfort it could provide through words, even if it felt like it could speak at that moment.<br>All the gardevoir could do was pull its trainer closer to it. Its hand on the back of his head, the Pokemon held him to its chest, cradling him with the other arm.  
>Then the tears began to fall.<p>

The trainer slowly welcomed the comfort, and reciprocated, wrapping his arms around his friend.

They sat there for what could have been a moment or an eternity, sharing what little warmth they had between them, comforting each with the other's very presence: the strength of their feelings of being pathetic and hopeless ebbed away as they did.

Their problems were many. Still physically exhausted, the trainer could walk no further; no amount of shelter from the rain seemed to even exist in this forest, even if he could; neither of them had any sense of how near or far they were from civilization; the freezing temperature would inevitably lead to hypothermia, and, perhaps, it already had.

Even with all that stacked on them, they felt convicted in the sense of warmth and safety they felt in each other's arms.

And as the trainer slipped away from consciousness, he couldn't picture a better way to die.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. :**

Right, for those of whom I hadn't laid it on thick enough: "Trainer" bit it, according to the last chapter. Bought the farm. Toast. Hence the previously assigned "Tragedy" genre.  
>That was the idea I mentioned earlier, that I was still unsure of. I meant to leave it open to interpretation, but the fact that few who have reviewed the story or messaged me seem to have picked up on the possibility bothers me, and I wanted to put it out there.<br>That being said, aforementioned people were generally positive and supportive of the story, and I thank them, so I will attempt to continue with my original idea instead of ending it on a low note.

Stop reading now if you liked the tragedy thing.

* * *

><p>Black.<p>

As far as the eye could see, black stretched. An unending void with neither an up nor a down, all-encompassing.

A thick, shuddering breath drawn, eyes snapped open, the trainer awoke. He stood, slowly, shaking off the remnants of what he assumed to be sleep.  
>Surveying his surroundings, he found... nothing. The word seemed to describe the immediate area quite well, he noted.<p>

So this was death? He was expecting something more grand. Something more anything, for that matter.

As he was thinking this, an odd something appeared before him, seemingly from nowhere.

Staring at it, a deep sense of unease crept its way into the trainer.

In appearance it was, simply, a ball. Red in color, giving off a soft glow which contaminated the inky blackness surrounding it with a hint of its own hue.  
>What was difficult in describing this object was in what it was, rather than how it appeared to be.<br>The red of the orb seemed to be infinitely deep, giving it the look of a bottomless pit, defying any sense of tangibility. And yet, there it sat, not a yard in front of him, perfectly round from any angle you could see it, no larger than a tennis ball.

Vertigo beginning to set in, the trainer attempted to tear his gaze from the bizarre something. The ball followed suit, greeting his gaze with all the social grace of a mugger.  
>Not pleased at this, the trainer opened his mouth in what would have been protest, had the crimson orb not seen it as an invitation. Jumping into his open mouth as fast as it did, the trainer didn't have time to so much as flinch before it had worked its way into his throat, and a great warmth overtook his body. Feeling it expand from his chest to his extremities in an instant, he fell forward, clutching at his throat, which he unconsciously decided to be where the orb must have been, despite the fact that it now felt as if it permeated through every facet of his physical being.<br>The sensation was thoroughly unpleasant, this alien heat worming its way through his core.

His face flushed and forehead beginning to sweat, he gasped for air, his throat clenching as he did so. Choking, he began to panic.  
>In a last ditch effort to free themselves of the uninvited guest, his muscles began to convulse. It was all he could do as he began to suffocate.<p>

Suddenly, a voice. A laugh. Warm, sincere, booming. In any other context it would have been endearing; given this situation it was gut-wrenching. The voice within his head was not his own.

"Brandon Kane," the voice rang, echoing the trainer's name through his body, "well met."

The ball leaped from his mouth, carrying much of the warmth with it.  
>His throat released, the trainer gasped for air.<p>

"Rather nasty situation you'd gotten yourself into." the voice boomed, letting out another chuckle as it finished, clearly pleased with whatever it was it had just done.

Despite the fact that the orb was now out of Brandon's throat, he could still feel the voice ringing through him, as if he himself had spoken the words.

Between gasps, he managed to form the question "What on Earth... are you?"

"Ah, how rude of me!" the voice said, an ashamed tone betraying its earlier levity, "though I suppose we didn't have much time for a formal introduction, what with you being nearly dead." It said this with what to the young man seemed near flippancy.

Brandon arched a brow. Nearly?

"In my proper term on your mortal plane, I was known as..." the voice trailed off, struggling to remember its own name, "Conchobar." It cut the brief silence abruptly, tone once more turning on its heel, this time becoming darkly serious. "Yes, I believe that was it..."

Looking into the orb with a bewildered expression, Brandon spoke. "G-Good to meet you, then. But you haven't answered my question."

The ball was silent and still for a moment, eventually relenting only with "All in good time, all in good time."

Not quite satisfied with this, Brandon once again began to speak, only to be cut off.

"I've done you a large favor, lad, saving your life. Interrogating me is no way to show your appreciation." Said the voice, agitation not at all concealed.

"S-Saving my-?" Brandon sputtered before stopping himself. He carefully worded his next question, trying not to further anger the voice. "If I'm not dead, what am I doing here..?"

"Here? 'Here' being the forest you allowed yourself to die in?" The voice scoffed. "I'd hope you'd be better suited to tell me that than I you."

As the orb finished its sentence, the inky blackness that surrounded the two seemed to melt away, revealing the forestation that, Brandon attempted to reason, could only have been there the entire time he had been.

The voice cleared its throat. Odd, Brandon thought, seeing as how the voice seemed to be nearly entirely disembodied, having no throat to clear. He decided this would be something to ponder at a later time.

"... It seems neither of us are in a mood suitable for real conversation." It said, now sounding rather dejected. "When you've cleared your head, make your way to the east. Hopefully we'll both have had time to collect ourselves by then."

Having said that, the orb did an excellent impression of a half lunar cycle, disappearing into nothingness, taking the forest with it.

An impressive way to go off in a huff, especially considering the lack of ground that Brandon now fell through.

* * *

><p>A.N.:<p>

So, heel twist, I know. I hope the lack of romance this chapter didn't put people off, but it'll come full circle, honest. D:

Please review, criticism and praise keep this writing kick of mine going. If I don't know what I'm doing right or wrong, I'll just feel like I'm flailing around in vain. Not that I'd abandon the story, of course, I have every intention of finishing regardless; I'll just be more confident in doing so with feedback.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.**:

Well, last chapter was entirely devoid of romantic development. How do I make up for that? By posting this: Nearly two-thousand words primarily composed of the stuff.

Is it any good? I can honestly say I have no idea, but I've done what I can. Feedback is beyond appreciated! Genuine thanks to the four people who have thus far written reviews.

Please try to enjoy.

* * *

><p>Brandon's eyes shot open. The cool mud on his back, only partially dried by the morning sun, made itself terribly apparent, sending a shiver through his body.<p>

He sat upright, displacing the arm that had been holding tightly to his chest.

A dream?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had been hyperventilating in his sleep.  
>As he exhaled, he noticed something peculiar. Despite the fact that he had just slept on the cold damp of the forest floor, he felt comfortably warm. His fingers weren't even partially numb. He flexed them to accentuate this point in his mind.<p>

It took a moment for it to register in Brandon's mind that the arm he had earlier displaced was not his.

His gardevoir lay just a few inches away from him, still sleeping soundly. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the pokemon, so cute as it slept.  
>He picked up the hand he had dropped and gently attempted to rouse the pokemon from its slumber.<br>With no response earned, Brandon noticed just how cold the gardevoir's hand was.

"... what with you being nearly dead."  
>The memory of the voice echoing through his mind, a renewed sense of panic struck him. He immediately felt for a pulse. Strong and steady, the neck warm to the touch.<p>

He let out a sigh of relief. Still alive, still relatively warm. He lightly smacked its cheek.  
>A wince. Good.<br>Surmising his companion was just exhausted from the previous day, he decided to let it sleep a while longer. They would still need to move, though, the last thing Brandon wanted was for them to spend another night out here. He gently lifted his friend from the ground, careful not to wake it, and started walking out of the clearing they had slept in.

An hour passed before the gardevoir so much as stirred.

* * *

><p>She was aware that she was moving, without moving herself. Samantha wasn't sure where she was or why, but whatever it was she was laying on was warm, a fact which she was quite content with.<br>Reluctant to break the wonderful comfort she was enjoying, she eventually conceded that waking up would be something she'd have to do eventually. Arching her back to stretch, she slowly woke herself from her half-sleep daze.

The crisp April sky obscured by heavy forestation, otherwise a beautiful sight, served as an unfortunate reminder of the previous day. What an ordeal... and it wasn't yet over.

The day had at least ended well, she thought. She blushed slightly as she did.  
>Samantha couldn't be exactly sure of what it was that had driven her to cling to her Master in the way she had. A part of her was glad she did, as it afforded the both of them much-needed emotional support, as well as a solid bit of rest. The rest of her, though, wasn't so sure that it was a good move to make.<br>Samantha had always loved her Master in the way that most pokemon do. He was always kind and supportive, and took good care of her. She had always returned this sort of love in kind.  
>Last night, if only for a fleeting moment, had turned that love into something stronger; intense and nearly palpable as it clenched her throat and warmed her chest.<p>

On her side of the fence, anyway. She couldn't know if it meant the same to him as it had to her, and she certainly wasn't about to burst right out of the gate and ask him.

Banishing the thought with a deep breath, she decided to find out how she was being moved. Turning her head, she was immediately met with her Master's smirking face. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Mornin', Sammy." He said, a bit of relief evident in his tone.

Samantha's heart now lodged in her diaphragm, she couldn't quite bring herself to speak. She also couldn't break her gaze from his eyes, so warm and familiar...

Brandon's smile faded a bit. "Is there something wrong?"

A moment passed before she managed to squeak out "Y-you're carrying me..."

"Oh! Sorry, I should have woken you up." He made to set her down. "I-"

"No!"

Brandon stopped, his confusion matched with the intensity of Samantha's blush. In truth, there was nothing Samantha wanted more at this moment than to remain in his arms.

"I-I mean... thank you." She smiled slightly in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

His smile returned in response. "No problem."

He stood there for a brief moment, unsure of what to do next. Samantha was doing everything she could not to look him in the eyes, having only just successfully torn herself from them.

"So," he said, deciding to walk again, "slept well?"

* * *

><p>Despite Brandon's positive outward demeanor, he didn't quite understand his gardevoir's behavior.<br>The best he could guess, he had done something to upset her. If she were only upset at the situation they currently found themselves in, he supposed, she'd at least be able to look at him. He couldn't be certain as to what exactly it was he had done, but he felt awful about it.

A couple of hours had passed since she had woken up, and her gaze remained vehemently on absolutely anything that wasn't him. The two had stopped to rest, and sitting next to someone who refused to look at or speak with him was slowly eating at Brandon's psyche.

Finally, he broke the thick and uncomfortable silence. "Sammy?"

She could only nod in response, being so busy thoroughly scrutinizing the grass beneath her.

"Samantha, please look at me." He said, his frown evident in his voice.

Her eyes shifted toward him, but her face remained fixed toward the grass. The awful tightness she felt in her stomach wouldn't allow her to do any more than that.

A bit frustrated, he sighed. Adjusting himself, he met her face.

"Sammy, you know I'd never do anything to hurt you," he started, placing a hand on her shoulder, "but it looks like I've gone and fucked up anyway."

Her eyes widened at this, allowing her to fully meet his gaze.

"Would it bug you to give me at least a hint as to what I did? Or is communication out the window already?" A genuinely sad tone rung through his forced smile, despite his attempted levity.

With that, a fire now burned in her chest. All but choking on the rising heat within her, she realized she was about to do something entirely stupid. This was not a precedent she wanted to set.  
>As her face drew slowly nearer and nearer to his, she spoke, though her voice sounded alien to her ears behind the haze of her emotions.<p>

"How could I be upset with you?" she breathed. "I love you."

Brandon eased a bit, relieved.

Samantha, strengthened by her admission, had every intention of closing the distance between their faces, to feel Brandon's lips lock with hers, to once again share their warmth. She leaned forward.

Not a force of Heaven or Hell would stop her now.

"But something _is_ bothering you." he said, more as a statement than a question.

No, mere words would serve to do that just fine.

Samantha froze in her slow advance. The meaning of everything in the last three hours had gone completely over his head.  
>This moment of hesitation served as a crack in the armor of her intense emotion, one which her mind soundly broke through.<p>

What in the Hell was she doing?  
>This thought circled her mind in various forms as she sat rooted to the spot, looking into her Master's face with a dumbfounded expression, blush impossibly deepening.<p>

This was patently ridiculous. As if one night of hugging would so drastically change his view of her. It wasn't the first time they'd done that, either. It was an emotional experience given what lead up to it, but not Earth-shatteringly so, not life-changing.  
>She had made a big deal out of nothing, there was no way something so silly could affect the both of them so deeply.<br>Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The number of changes Brandon saw in Samantha's facial expression in the seconds it took her to think all of this, both significant and minute, affected him with a feeling to match it.  
>Confused, he couldn't find the words to further question her. To find the words for anything, really. He swallowed the breath he had taken in preparation to speak, understanding only that.<p>

With a resigned expression, he managed "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Oh, how she did. To put this issue out in the open, to release it from herself, would be the greatest relief she could imagine. Every fiber of her being seemed to internally scream this in unison.

"Thank you... I don't." She sighed, standing as she did.

He couldn't help his stomach from dropping.

Looking down at him she said, rather flatly "We should keep going."

He nodded, frowning, and stood to meet her gaze.

As she walked past him, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, gently rubbing her upper back with the other hand. "Whenever you feel like it, you're free to tell me about it."

And there was that damn blush again.


	4. Chapter 4

As the sun began to set, their hopes fell with it.  
>Another day spent, and neither Brandon nor Samantha felt that they had made absolutely any progress in escaping what was slowly becoming in their minds a rather well-decorated prison.<p>

By walking in one direction, Brandon had earlier figured that they would have to hit the edge at one point. Where they ended up didn't matter as long as it wasn't this blasted forest, the two agreed.  
>With no way to mark their progress, however, the farther they traveled it the more it felt to the two like a futile effort.<p>

With a deep breath and heavy sigh, Brandon spoke. "So... decision time." He stopped and turned to Samantha. "Do we stop now and make camp, or do we keep going?"

Stopping now as well, Samantha gave him an odd look. "Camp? With what?"

Brandon gave an awkward, almost embarrassed smirk in return. "I just mean find a spot that looks least uncomfortable to sleep on, and start a fire near it." He forced a small chuckle as he finished, hoping to lighten the tone of their rather glum situation.

Samantha couldn't help but mirror his smirk, faced with his attempt.  
>"'Camp' sounds nice." she said, allowing her exhaustion to show in her voice.<p>

"Agreed," he said, smile widening a bit, now genuine through the slight amount of relief he took in the idea of resting, "let's gather the wood before it gets too dark."

* * *

><p>Their fire wasn't the most well-made. Well-made didn't describe it at all, in fact. Haphazard, sloppy, rushed, those were proper adjectives; but so was warm, which made it good enough for them.<br>The sun now fully set, the small fire gave the surrounding area an orange glow, as if to illustrate the heat and comfort it provided.

Stoking the fire with a small stick, Brandon's thoughts turned again to his dream. He wasn't certain as to why, but for some reason he couldn't shake the memory of the odd ball from his mind.

He had earlier decided that the entire memory he held could only have been a product of his imagination. Considering otherwise would be lunacy, and yet... the words stuck, reverberating through his head as clearly as when they were first spoken, repeatedly. He had forgotten the context in which they were used, and being replayed as they were, entirely out of order, there was little hope of remembering.  
>Not that he consciously thought it was important to do so; all this seemed to happen of its own accord.<p>

Chobar? Was that what it had called itself? That sounded about right. Something like it, anyway...  
>What was it? What did it do to him? What had it wanted to talk with him about?<br>He couldn't remember, and doubted he would find his answers even if he did.

Brandon sat still for what was to him an indiscernible amount of time, contemplating all of this.

Once his train of thought passed, Brandon looked over his shoulder, as if to reassure himself that he was, indeed, still sitting in the forest he had lost himself and his friend in. He sighed, almost comforted by that fact. He placed more wood in the small fire, if only to occupy himself with something that wasn't his stupid dream.

Samantha, previously sitting beside him, had fallen asleep. Deep sleep, from what Brandon could discern. He was glad to see it, but wondered just how much time he had wasted thinking on nonsense.

Now feeling the aching tug of sleep in his tired muscles, he fixed himself into a position more suited for joining his companion in it. Once situated, Brandon looked again into the fire.  
>Though he found himself stuck in the same forest as the night prior, this moment felt different on the whole. He felt oddly contented. The night was still, the forest was calm and the fire was warm. He was grateful for all of this.<br>He wouldn't get the most comfortable sleep of his life tonight, but at this moment Brandon felt the most relaxed he could remember himself being in the longest time.

As his eye lids grew heavy, he felt a strong sense of conviction. They would make it out of this forest, and from this point on they were going to enjoy it as best they could, if Brandon could help it.

Just as sleep was overtaking him on this positive note, Brandon noticed something odd.  
>His eyes widened, he could feel the blood drain from his face.<p>

There, at the base of the fire, sat a ball, small and red.

Brandon's stomach did an impressive flip, the bile rising in his throat served as its applause.

The flame parted straight down the middle as the ball ascended from it, beginning to float toward him.

Brandon's throat clenched as he remained stock still, frozen in either wonder or fear, eyes locked on the approaching orb.

Having reached Brandon's face, the ball halted. And remained, floating silently.

All Brandon could do was stare. Now that it was mere inches from his face, Brandon could see... everything. This ball seemed to be an infinite pool of crimson shades, swirling in unending patterns and directions, caught in eternal tempest. He could almost feel himself being pulled forward by the impossible depth. This being coupled with the horrible sense of dread permeating from it, he tried his best not to vomit.

If not for the voice that now spoke, Brandon could have stayed as he was for an eternity.

"I'd asked you to head east." it said only almost flatly, its tone barely below infuriated.

Brandon shook out of his trance. "What?" Less than profound, but it was all he could manage.

The voice sighed heavily. "Do you remember nothing? East!" Brandon flinched as the voice angrily spat the last word. "You were to come yourself during the day, so as not to waste the night!"

Brandon, frightened now by the intensity in which the voice spoke, could only stammer "I-I don't, I didn't- don't know-" before the voice cut him off.

"We've no time for excuses! We've barely any time for anything tonight!" The red of the orb intensified, bleeding out into the air surrounding it as its voice rose.

"T-time for what?" Brandon asked, hoping to give his mind some sort of information to anchor itself to in the sea of confusion and fear that he was currently drowning in.

The voice let out an exasperated grunt. "No time for questions, either!" it hissed. "You are coming with me. Now."

Brandon swallowed his obvious question, immediately standing in compliance. He at least had the sense to notice the pattern his questioning had set.

"With haste!" the ball said, shooting forward and disappearing into the dark forest without a further moment of consideration for the young man it had ordered to follow.

Brandon had taken two nervous and quickened steps forward before remembering he wasn't alone. He stopped, switching his gaze nervously between Samantha and the forestation the ball had hidden itself in.  
>Deciding that invoking the anger of his friend would be the less potentially dangerous between it and that of the ball's, he quickly lifted Samantha and darted in the vague direction of the red orb's exit.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Two days late. Two days! And with such a little chapter to show for it. I sincerely apologize, and can only hope I won't find myself in this situation regularly. D:  
>Sorry if I've disappointed you with this update, but I'll try to get the next one out as best I can.<p>

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, you guys are great!  
>In response to OHP (Since you reviewed anonymously): Thank you very much for the kind review and your support. I will do everything I can to see this through to the end!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

The red glow of the sphere was only barely visible, yards in front of him, with all sorts of greenery obscuring his view. Brandon tried his best not to lose sight of it during this seemingly endless journey, being woven through trees for what felt like miles while lugging on his back a friend who was, thankfully, a sound sleeper. His lack thereof certainly wasn't making this run any easier, especially considering his fatigue from the day's worth of travel he was currently undoing.**  
><strong>Every step taken, every breath drawn felt a great undertaking.

Brandon's pace slowed gradually as his legs grew more and more like bricks of concrete. His body simply wouldn't allow him to continue as he was, in spite of the fear that had carried and blinded him thus far.

He hadn't noticed he was collapsing until his face met the ground.  
>Samantha, jolted from sleep by their collision, released from her mouth something equally irate and unintelligible as she rolled off of Brandon's back.<p>

As the glow slowly faded, Brandon's lungs burned for the oxygen he had in his run neglected to provide sufficiently. His breaths were still shallow and quick, but many more were now taken.  
>The muscles that had failed him pulsed in relief as his lungs fueled them, their heat contrasting with the cool earth.<p>

He lay like this for what felt to him an entirely inadequate amount of time before being shocked awake by the presence of the crimson orb that had just moments ago sped off.

"Your friend... a psychic, correct?" Its words were slow and deliberate, perhaps to mask its frustration. Ineffectually, if so.

Whatever amount of sleepiness Samantha had had a moment prior was forgotten immediately at the sight of it.

Brandon blinked. Lost in the haze of his exhaustion, he could only grunt in affirmation.

Samantha shot him a fearful look.

"Right, then," it said, in what could have been a contemplative tone, "that makes things a fair bit easier..." Its voice trailed off as the sphere itself slowly lowered to meet Samantha's face.

Samantha's eyes became acquainted with the swirling madness of the sphere. Her mouth stood agape.

True to form, the ball darted in with no further interaction needed. Samantha did not react positively, falling to her knees in a coughing fit.

This passed into silence, and she stood, slowly and without so much as opening her eyes.  
>Brandon now felt a deep fear grip his stomach, for both himself and his friend. He sat up, but only so.<br>As her eyes shot open, that fear intensified.

These eyes were not at all hers, in fact, they were that of the sphere. That same crimson tumult filled the spots in which hers should have been.  
>Brandon could only widen his.<p>

The first noise from her was not in the least what Brandon was expecting. A loud, strained guffaw, released from her throat with all the smoothness of sandpaper.  
>"This will do just fine." Samantha said, with what to Brandon was an entirely unsettling smirk. The voice was indeed Samantha's, but both the words spoken through it and the tone betrayed it, no mistake.<p>

Brandon's breathing had at this point all but stopped entirely. His words seemed to trip over themselves on the way from his mouth.  
>"Pl-Please, don't hurt her."<p>

Samantha nearly fell over in a laughter not her own.

"Fool boy, have I done any harm to either of you thus?" Its tone was one of teasing disbelief, despite the gravel in it. A residual chuckle escaped it as this bizarre mockery of what was Samantha attempted to recover. "I think not!"

Its words did not comfort Brandon. If this thing was not going to kill him, its mood swings certainly would.

As its posture returned, with a long taking of air, what looked to be small flames engulfed Samantha's hands.

Were flames normally purple? Brandon was too occupied with his fear to answer this internal question.

"Simply glorious!" it said, admiring its work.  
>Noticing the ever growing look of unease that currently affixed Brandon's mug, that nasty smirk returned to Samantha's.<br>"Calm yourself, boy; this won't hurt a bit!" The excitement of its words was well paired with the quickness of its movements as Samantha's body lunged at Brandon.

As the blazing hand pierced his chest, only one thought tickled the edges of Brandon's mind through the thick blanket of shock that covered it: Fire isn't usually cold. By at least as much as it isn't normally purple.  
>He'd have chuckled at his stupidity if it weren't for the fact that he had drifted into unconsciousness, covered in flame.<p>

* * *

><p>Breathing. Breathing was important.<p>

Brandon decided this mental statement to be true enough, and thus began to breathe. A decision he immediately regretted, choking as he did. The air was thick with... something. Something not at all palatable. Now was a good time to open his eyes.

He lay on a thick carpet. A sprawling, intricate carpet. One which he would never be able to afford, he slowly surmised.  
>Not that he'd think of buying a carpet with such a layer of dust, inches thick. He gagged again at the thought of what it was he had earlier choked on. It was enough to rouse him from his sleep. Sitting up, he unconsciously thought to see where he was.<p>

The room he sat in was large. Grand, even, and very well decorated.  
>Huge, elaborate paintings lined equally huge and elaborate walls; ornate Chandeliers hung from a flamboyant ceiling; a fire roared in the massive fireplace, providing the only light in the room; and was that a suit of armor?<p>

This was unlike anywhere Brandon had ever even heard of, let alone been. How did he get here?  
>That question disappeared as quickly as it had formed in his mind at the sight of Samantha, ostensibly sleeping. His stomach dropped as fear and anxiety reclaimed it.<p>

He immediately felt with his hand where hers had punctured his chest.  
>No wound. Not a minor pain felt. He looked down to confirm this. He was... fine. Not even a mark on his shirt. He sighed in as much relief as perplexity. Another blasted dream? His entire body loosened at the thought.<br>Maybe Samantha would know how they found themselves here? He decided waking her would be as good an idea as any at this point, even at the risk of sending her into her usual early-morning irritability. He couldn't help but smirk at the thought, thankful that he was in a position to be reminded of his friend's habits. The last few days hadn't much allowed for that.

Just before his hand had reached her, a now all too familiar voice froze it in its approach.

"Leave her," it said, voice strained, "she'll need rest."

Brandon turned his head slowly toward the the sound, with only a shadow of disbelief.

In front of him, beside the fireplace, was the back of what he had earlier thought to be an unoccupied chair. He had been corrected.

Brandon asked the obvious question, dejectedly: "Where are we?"

"Home." it stated, tiredly. "Our home. Ours and yours." It sighed, falling back into the comfort of the chair.

Not appreciating the implications of that last statement, Brandon gave Samantha's sleeping form a nervous glance.

The voice rose again from the chair. "Don't worry for your friend," it said, misinterpreting the look, "she need only sleep. As I. As you." It took and released a deep, strained breath. "Find a bed for yourselves. I'm afraid discussion must wait for tomorrow." It allowed itself a strained chuckle. "Just one night wasted, of many." From the side of the chair, what appeared to be a very large hand made a waving gesture as it said this.  
>Had Brandon been looking at it rather than Samantha, he would have been shocked by the size alone.<p>

Not inclined for argument with the thing after its previous outburst, especially not when faced with the prospect of a bed, Brandon only nodded before again taking up his sleeping friend and exiting the room.

* * *

><p>Sleep, for Samantha, was an odd thing.<p>

Being a psychic gave her incredible abilities, great power, and, by the end of each day, a massive headache. It was hugely tiring, and by the time night found itself upon the sky, sleep almost always came to her instantaneously, often with little regard to setting or context.

The moments leading up to this particular sleep had seemed so serene, so calm and comfortable. This fact struck her as perplexing, in hindsight, considering the bizarre dream that had resulted from it being in such stark contrast.

Truth be told, she wasn't quite certain as to whether or not she had yet woken from it. The events of the dream seemed to have played out, odd and even disturbing as they were, but what was especially strange about it was just that: it had ended, and yet here she stood.

And what was "Here" supposed to be, this far-reaching blackness? Her mind? Samantha was just a bit off-put by the insinuation that that possibility put forth, in metaphor.

Samantha tapped her foot impatiently. She was over thinking this, of course. This moment was simply the segue into wakefulness... a state which she was at this moment a bit too eager to enter. Why? The previous day had been grueling, surely she needed all the sleep she could allow herself.

Her subconscious, she decided, was a bitch.

So, now what? She had nothing if not time to kill. Think on the dream? She had, seemingly, killed Brandon in it. Was there some greater meaning in it?  
>She dismissed that thought immediately. Garbage. Just as the dream was. She scowled.<p>

Shaking the notion off, she decided to think on that wonderful moment by the fire. That would surely pass time. She couldn't help but wish she had stayed awake only a little longer, just to savor it while it was happening...

Bah! There was that thought again, worming its way to the surface of her mind. Walking, then!

No way to tell how much, if any, progress she could make, or was making; but even then it would help her think of anything else. Or nothing at all. Either suited her.

Determined to fill the remaining time with anything but her nightmare, she pressed on.

* * *

><p>A hallway, long, thin and in a horrible state of disrepair; lined with many doors, most of which were locked.<p>

Brandon's little hunt had finally yielded results.

As large and lavish as the room he had first found himself in was, this one matched in small and dank; just as the other three he had seen. It was completely nondescript in design and with at least twice the dust and decay of the first.  
>Cobwebs in every corner; windows entirely caked with filth on both the inside and out provided an awful draft; and Brandon could swear the whole of it was damp with something not of this Earth.<p>

With the addition of a small rectangle sitting in the corner, it was the best damn room Brandon could imagine.  
>The bed was small in all respects, as well as rough and wholly unremarkable; but a bed it was nonetheless.<p>

The only question on Brandon's mind was how he would pull this off.  
>The bed was made for one person. One very small person, he noted. It was also the only on this floor of the house; Brandon had seen that every other room was empty, save for the dust.<br>This was a problem for two people.  
>Leaving Samantha on the floor was an idea buried under no less than six tons of mental concrete the moment it surfaced in his mind.<br>Letting Samantha have the bed and sleeping on the floor was an option, it couldn't be much worse than outside... But that bed, damn it, was calling to him, pulling him in. He needed it.  
>He grunted in frustration.<p>

This thought process was relevant to a now very annoyed and very exhausted Brandon for less than the span of a minute.

To Hell with it.

Placing Samantha's sleeping form on one edge of the bed, he fell onto the opposite, face first, expelling a legion of dust into the air.  
>Glorious.<br>He allowed the muscles he had been unconsciously tightening to relax as he released a heavy sigh. Even with half his body hanging off the bed, the other felt wonderful.

The trick was fitting himself into a position suitable for sleep on this tiny bed while keeping himself a good distance from his companion, so as not to disturb her.  
>Or, rather, it would have been, had the euphoria of relief not stolen away with any amount of social grace he may have otherwise had at that moment.<p>

Propping himself onto his side, he pulled Samantha toward him with his free arm and held her tightly in both. She stirred, but did not wake.

Much better. They now fit, if only barely.

Sleep took to him as well in what felt like no time at all.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Well, this was a long time coming.  
>I meant to get it out last Wednesday. I had enough written by then for a decently sized chapter; but it was far from polished, so I resigned myself to another Friday posting.<br>That Friday, too, passed. Then only slightly polished, I decided that no matter how I dolled it up, what I had written was total bunk. I deleted everything.  
>Fast forward six days and here we are with a messy, unpolished, and unprecedentedly long chapter. Just under two weeks late. To OHP: I hope that it's preferable to two months.<p>

It's not quite up to my standards; but as opposed to my previous attempt, what I feel for it is something less than hatred.

So, apologies for that. And for this.

This story, as of two weeks ago, had gone completely out of what I had set out to write a month ago.  
>I wasn't entirely unhappy with what it had become, but for some reason I couldn't stop myself from trying to railroad it into what I wanted before; despite the fact that reaching the ending I had originally planned from the point it was in would make for an awful story.<p>

The reason I hated the previous version of this chapter was for that reason. I was shoehorning in the old ideas.

The best metaphor I can come up with is this, obscure as it is:  
>If you've seen the film Mouse Hunt, and I recommend you do, you'll probably remember the scene where they cover an entire kitchen floor with mousetraps. In doing so, they inadvertently trap themselves in the corner of the room, with no way to the door without springing one and all of them.<br>Hilarity ensues.

Except, in my case, the traps are awful, awful plot devices and old ideas.  
>Delays ensue.<p>

So, what have I come away with from this? An entirely new plot map.

What little characterization I've given the characters previously will remain; the origin of Conchobar remains; certain yet unintroduced characters remain. Everything else will differ.

I certainly hope it's a good thing.

So, then, burning questions for you awesome reviewers (Who I must again thank): Longer chapters, good or bad? Plot or romantic fluff? Two weeks: insufferable or preferable?


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.:  
><strong>This is downright shameful. I've lost track of the number of weeks past since I last posted something.

What I haven't lost track of are the number of false starts I've had in writing the next chapter. The number of times I've completed _a c_hapter, but thrown it out when I read it in its entirety.

I have lost track of the number of ideas I've had regarding it.

And no, I'm not going through some crisis in life, nor am I busy with family or work or school or anything else. I have no valid excuse.

But this story now baffles me, as a presence in my mind. It has expanded in scope and theme beyond what I had ever intended, ever wanted. And there's not a damn thing I can do to take it back; I can't pull what I've already written away from what I have at some point intended to write.  
>The story will suffer. I will suffer.<br>But I've promised to see this thing through. I will.  
>Will the readers suffer as well? I hope not, but do suspect.<p>

The best part of this sorry situation, for me, is that I am still unsatisfied with what I am posting. In what could easily have been a month, I am only partially satisfied with one section of my writing. One very small section at under four-hundred words.  
>I'm absolutely embarrassed to post it on its own, but at this point I can't let the gap of time between updates grow. It's killing me, and piling more stress on the overloaded garbage barge that is this story.<p>

It will, eventually, be replaced. Expanded on, given a proper chapter: one with actual characters and sense rather than vague prose alone. And then it will all fall into place.

Think of this as a segue into what will hopefully be grander things.

* * *

><p>The Void.<br>An eternal blackness sought by all living things, if unconsciously. As well as some dead things.  
>If not the flames of Hell nor the comfort of Heaven, the nothing of the Void.<br>Eternal nothingness, desired and achieved; by not the grace of any God nor the vengeance of the demonic. Nothing born of nothing. The Void simply was, yet wasn't; never and ever.

His home, the Void.

He was. His duty was. Unlike the Void, it and he clearly and plainly were.

Death.  
>Not death of physical being, for the Void knew not of such things, but death of the ethereal, death of consciousness, death of the soul.<p>

And those three did come, and more. The Void filled with uncountable numbers of such intangibles, all eons accounted for.

All met Death, and in him, death.

Death more so a mechanization of death than he was, himself, Death.  
>And so he remained century after century, until, in a great amount of time and in consuming a greater amount of souls, Death became something else as well.<p>

A consciousness long held dormant within him, cage tempered by the Void yet weakened in the passing of many like itself, surfaced.  
>His Self. A then ancient memory, of a long dead man born of a long dead land, of long dead home and long dead relations.<p>

Him. Death. Dead, and reborn.

And so he became more than death, more than Death; he became himself once more, in consciousness and memory if not body and soul.

And his eyes did open, at last, to all that was the Void; all that was everything and nothing.

The Void did become him, and he did become the Void. All that he had ended began anew, and all that he had begun ended.

Tranquility. Peace. Serenity.

The Void now less a home than an extension of his being, these three would not prove enough for the memory of a mortal man.

The shadow of what he was, dormant for centuries, now needed travel; needed knowledge; and perhaps even strife.

Under that desire, the Void did collapse.  
>And he did find travel. He did find knowledge. He did find strife.<p>

Above all else, strife.


End file.
